


Save a Life

by LuKaz3



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: All my work has angst ofc it has angst, Angst, How Do I Tag, Korekiyo's sister is manipulative don't even, M/M, ily rantaro but, what else tags can i put that isn't spoiler??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 01:41:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuKaz3/pseuds/LuKaz3
Summary: From anxiety, anger, fear, remembering—because he already heard Rantaro Amami say that same exact familiar phrase more than he could count; yet Rantaro never remembers. He never does. And it’s painful because it’s always so repetitive, everything he has seen or heard before, but it feels all the same. The numbing feeling of thousands of butterflies in his stomach feels almost like his insides are being eaten into nothing—he’s turning into nothing—he’s…why is he dedicating himself to this? For himself? For Rantaro? For her?





	Save a Life

A faint tapping of the rain’s aftermath clashed against the windowsill. The day had been filled with nothing but dark drizzles and powerful winds. Even so, it had been mostly uneventful—nothing much that could be called interesting happened that day.

Korekiyo prefers uneventful days. 

When he wishes for something interesting to happen he ends up wishing he never did—perhaps, it’s best not to test the future. Maybe he just likes his present just fine. Each second that passes... 

“…Does that mean Madison only wrote barely half of the Constitution after all?” A voice snaps him back to the reality that someone was with him in the library; he’s surprised that he still isn’t quite used to the fact someone prefers to hang out with him nowadays.

He finds Rantaro Amami to be a very odd person—laidback, often immature, well-liked by everyone in the school, yet open-minded and intelligent. Although, what most can’t seem to understand is why Rantaro found company in the quietest and most gossiped person around the campus—but that’s something they talk about in the back of the classroom.

Korekiyo cleared his throat, fixing his mask, and made sure not to spare another unsure gaze at the Green-haired boy beside him, “You must be looking into the Federalist Papers.” He immediately answered, to which Rantaro made a small tired noise of ‘oops’, “What is it that you’re even studying for? I’m sure we have passed the entire quarter of American History.”

Rantaro groaned, dropping his forehead onto his textbook and notes, the sound echoing throughout their mostly empty area, “It’s for Anglo-American Literature…” He mumbled with a pout, “God, I’m too tired to even remember what period I was studying. Where are we again?”

The long-haired boy finally looked down at the weary student with one eyebrow raised in amusement, “We decided to stop by the Library as soon as it started raining, seeing as neither of us had an umbrella.” He glanced out of the window, “The rain has passed. It would be best to go home and rest—especially you. I understand you can’t handle three tests and an annoying grape hair-colored brat in a single day.” As he talked, he was already swiftly fixing his own mess into his bag. 

Rantaro, instead, raised his head back up and placed his cheek on his hand, elbow on the textbook he was previously reading. He wore uncertainty on his expression, as if he was…confused or curious. Korekiyo sent the same exact face back at him, wordlessly asking what the laidback boy needed or was thinking. Rantaro smiled at the attention he was given, “You’re just really articulate and observant; I don’t get how only few like you.”

“…And you do.” Korekiyo retaliated, continuing with his bag-packing as soon as the subject was started. Rantaro continued grinning, leaning back on his seat and pushing himself away from the table, although he doesn’t seem to have any plans to stand up soon, “Yeah, obviously!” He enthusiastically replied, “I mean, somehow, I’m always learning something when I hang out around you for literally a second at minimum. And you’re like…really pretty. Especially your hair.”

Korekiyo calmly raised his mask over his red face, he’s gotten used to that action. He knows well Rantaro compliments everyone entirely platonically—maybe he really just sees everyone as his younger sibling, and sees no harm in whatever could sound like flirting. “There is no need to…worship someone like me.” He then gestures to Rantaro’s recently-placed legs over the table, “And get your legs off and get ready to go home before either the Library supervisor or the rain comes back. I’m sure you’d want to go home, yes?”

“Yes please,” Rantaro said, standing up from his seat and stretching his sore arms and back. He removed his glasses and placed it back into his shoulder bag before fixing his modules and textbooks. All the while, Korekiyo watched with narrow eyes—he doesn’t understand Rantaro’s tastes in friends. It’s more on the fact that he didn’t expect a seemingly cliché popular boy like him to take interest on the aspiring Anthropologist—he almost expected someone like that creepy Art girl that’s so obviously an Occult member.

Besides, his old friend group consisted of people like Iruma, Momota and Ouma. It’s true that they all had their own personalities in a way, but they all still had a spark that makes them interesting. Korekiyo’s mostly just silent; never talks unless talked to. Boring: that’s the word. Nowadays, Rantaro is barely seen around the three—although they’re all still obviously the closest of friends, he’s always just found (rarely) eating lunch somewhere with the masked student outside of the school eating halls. 

…Maybe he knew about Korekiyo’s childhood? Family? His ability? 

He felt a warm touch on his shoulder, and the calming melody of that goddamn boy’s voice, “Earth to Kiyo? There’re chances of rain tonight. Best’a get going.” Korekiyo solemnly nodded, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Nothing bad should happen after this. Nothing. 

Except it’s so wrong to hope. Kiyo has understood that in the worst ways possible.

Every time he looked at Rantaro he could feel different mixed feelings of fondness, amusement, confusion and this crunching feeling of knowing and denial. At this point he isn’t sure what he’s denying anymore—his own feelings or his knowledge of the fact that Rantaro isn’t…supposed to be here anymore. Yet Korekiyo’s fighting with rationality and time itself to keep him back but he knows so well that he has to let go at some—

Korekiyo feels the other’s hand mold around his wrist—Rantaro pulled and dragged, sent Korekiyo stumbling upon his feet yet he followed, because he never feels lost with the Jade-eyed student around. The two moved out of the huge building of the Library, both pair of eyes set on the narrow grassy pathway that rarely any people use on their way home. Either way, it had been a good few hours after the school day has ended; It’s bound to be mostly empty. Perhaps it’s just the familiar feeling of their usual route, or the nice and stronger aftermath scent of the rain. 

Rantaro pulled out his phone, knowing that they’ll fall into another silence, in which the only sounds are the occasional crunches of their shoes stepping onto the fallen Autumn leaves. Korekiyo recalls—before Rantaro started following him around—that Iruma had always tried her best but notorious ways to get him to get into her new car after school. He remembers Rantaro telling him that he has a distaste for cars, but Rantaro doesn’t. 

Even so, the path the two of them take everyday only leads to Korekiyo’s house. For some reason, the adventurous half of their duo enjoys to walk him home every single day—wherever Rantaro lives, the blackette isn’t exactly sure. He only hopes that it’s close enough, especially to lessen the rate of him encountering any danger on his way to his own home.

“…Where do you live?” He decided to ask. The Green-haired raised his head from his phone, eyebrow raised, “Hm?” Rantaro looked at the grass crunching beneath his feet, “Oh, uh…it’s at the opposite direction; it’s relatively far from the Library, which sorta sucks. I just somehow find a lot of shortcuts from your house. Convenient, huh?”

His eye twitched at the mention of shortcuts, knowing well that one of those said routes had…had already triggered another one of those times. Korekiyo decided not to mention so, instead he ceased the urge to glare at nothing and nodded once at Rantaro. “So…Why’d you ask?” Rantaro attempted to continue the started conversation, his permanent smile running along his face. 

Korekiyo shrugged subtly, “…I figured it would be fair if I could walk with you to your own home instead of you following me daily after classes. Besides, I’m sure you’ve had this route memorized, there’s not much other logical reason to it other than you needing my exact address.” 

Rantaro already dug his phone back deep into the side pocket of his shoulder bag, and his hands had gone back to playing around with his glinting expensive rings. He goofily grinned up at the taller one, “It doesn’t hurt to make sure you’re safe, right?” Korekiyo felt his entire chest skip a beat. 

From anxiety, anger, fear, remembering—because he already heard Rantaro Amami say that same exact familiar phrase more than he could count; yet Rantaro never remembers. He never does. And it’s painful because it’s always so repetitive, everything he has seen or heard before, but it feels all the same. The numbing feeling of thousands of butterflies in his stomach feels almost like his insides are being eaten into nothing—he’s turning into nothing—he’s…why is he dedicating himself to this? For himself? For Rantaro? For her?

It does. It does hurt. I regret starting this and not even my powers can turn me back to the time when I never cared. Because it does—does hurt. Shush, you’re thinking about it too much again, sweet Korekiyo. 

“Right, I’m sorry.” He spoke through his mask, immediately regaining his composure. The shorter beside him tilted his head to the side, yet still raised to Korekiyo in question, “Sorry for…?”

Sorry that I can’t stop this.

He only shrugged, not because he doesn’t know what, but because he has too much to be sorry for and Rantaro would just never understand. There are times when Rantaro does, but then it would go back to when he doesn’t.

The brown-clothed student only nodded, somehow understanding the atmosphere around Korekiyo, and turned back to his phone. He seems to only be mindlessly staring at a picture from his gallery—whether he was trying to understand the image or the situation, not much would know.

He only looked up when he saw a raindrop fall onto his screen, and soon he felt his long green bangs drop and stick to his face from the presence of strong rain, “O-Oh,” Rantaro quickly raised his shoulder bag over his head, “Geez, I guess the eye just passed. It’s already way past a drizzle.” He turned to Korekiyo, who had started to drag him to the closest tree. 

The tall one leaned onto his chosen trunk, ignoring the unpleasant (yet nice) sting of splinters digging into his jacket-covered back, “It’s best to let it pass under here…”

Because it’s safer. Best to prevent it before it happens. 

Rantaro obviously looked like he had complaints, but all he did is puff a breath of disappointment and fall sitting onto the wet grass, knees against his torso and up to his chin. His eyes focused on the dripping falling from the leaves above him and off of his long bangs. His eyelids threatened to drop from the weariness he had been feeling since earlier, but the strong dropping of the rain onto his shoulders kept him from dozing off. The feeling of danger kept Korekiyo from dozing off. Rantaro groaned, “I don’t think I can survive a way back home at this point…I can just stay at your house for one night, right?”

...Korekiyo isn’t exactly hiding something in his home (he made sure to keep those items in a hidden attic), maybe it was more of the fact he didn’t want to show off his legitimately often empty household. Empty of interesting things and empty of people. It seems that Rantaro saw the doubt in the other’s face, as they already put on a persevering façade, slightly pulling on Korekiyo’s jacket, “We get to hang out for longer or something! Let’s, like…try talking to your house ghosts or whatever. It’ll be fun!”

He didn’t resist the urge to chuckle, finally smiling at the determination that can be seen from Rantaro. Yeah, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt for a less lonely humble abode. “…W-Well, if you insist. You shall stay for a night.” He agreed, “Longer if the rain lasts for more.”

“Alright, sounds like a plan!” The sparkling of Rantaro’s excited Jade eyes gave the gloomy, almost melancholic rainy atmosphere a beautiful and relaxing vibe—like nothing can ever go wrong. Yet everything could just go wrong. 

Korekiyo knew not to hope. 

Especially as they felt the wind get much stronger, almost knocking them off of their places. At this point, it should be obvious that it's a typhoon they’re dealing with and not a normal everyday storm. It’d be a miracle if either of them wakes up without a fever or body pain at the very least.

While Rantaro attempts to get into a much more resilient position, he knocks his bag over and out a bunch of papers flew into the gloomy air, immediately becoming regrettably wet.

“No, I worked an entire week for that!” Rantaro exclaimed in frustration and stumbled clumsily back onto his feet. Korekiyo attempted to grab his wrist but the other had already jogged relatively far off to follow after his reaction papers.

He had his arm raised, ready to grab at whatever left of his assignment he could salvage, but all Korekiyo could look at is the tree—seemingly anything but sturdy—about to give in on gravity. He wanted to walk, do something—anything, whatever yet he felt all of his air pump out of his lungs and so did his soul. Because he knows, he knows and he wished he didn’t.

The tree broke in half as easily as a pencil, and all Rantaro did was look up in shock and attempt to run back where he came from; but all hope of escaping ceased when the cruel object of nature fell on top of him and sent him crashing to the rocky soil beneath. His scream was covered by the overwhelmingly (at least to Korekiyo) loud noise of the crunch that could only be assumed as half of Rantaro's torso and his legs.

“J-Jesus f—Shinguji, help, g-get it off me—”The desperate call was enough to send Korekiyo sprinting over, almost slipping on the soil moist from the rain and the other's growing trail of blood. The only thing he could ever do was kneel and let Rantaro dig his nails into Kiyo’s arms in pain, “Please, S-Shinguji, please, it hurts so much I can’t feel anythi—“”Y-Yes! I’m aware, I’m aware just—just trust me...”

Rantaro claws into his hands, sobbing and groaning begs that couldn’t be heard from both the wind and the storm itself; all Korekiyo could understand from his own beloved is his own name, the fact that Rantaro is calling for him—begging him—yet all he could do is hold back the tears and just…just end all of the pain to get it over with.

He picks from his pocket and brings out a small case, pulling out a small pocket knife from inside. He raises the pained sobbing boy's chin, feeling all over his neck for the right spot, “I'm s-sorry, I failed again, I'm so sorry, Amami—trust me, trust me—”With a final stutter, Korekiyo digs the knife deep into Rantaro's neck, watching the life drain from his once lively eyes for—how many times has it been already?—and wishes he had the power to just stand up earlier and not let it come to this again, “I-I'm so sorry.” Apologize. He apologizes every time.

Amami didn’t flinch at the new wound; in fact, he didn’t seem to notice it, “I’m...u-uh...” He mumbled, “I can’t see you...”

The last emotion Rantaro Amami expressed this timeline was confusion.

Korekiyo didn’t shed any tears this time. As soon as the life drains off of Rantaro, so will all of Kiyo's emotions. There's no point. He just stands up and looks down at the half-pale, half-gory mess once known as Amami.

They were…They were so happy and hopeful before. 

The typhoon calmed down to a drizzle and an averagely mighty wind—it already did its role this time, anyway. He felt himself move on reflex, must’ve started to go on autopilot. He didn’t bother to take another last glance at the dead body knowing it’ll come back more lively looking later.

Next thing he knows is he’s standing before a huge cross about half of his height, nothing else could be found nearby other than the trees similar to the one that fell on top of him. A faithful reminder of another failed chance. He looked down on the flower in his hand before kneeling down and closing his eyes, tucking a new one into the growing bouquet with flowers of the same color. 

He paused for a moment. For a second, he couldn’t feel anything but lightness.

Then he opened his eyes. 

And he’s back in his nearly-complete classroom, seated on his assigned chair with his hands neatly placed on the table. He breathed in the familiar scent of his mask’s fabric and waited for his familiar voice that sounded like home. 

“Good morning, Shinguji!”

He raised his head to gaze into the eyes of another live Rantaro Amami. But he is all the same. 

Korekiyo prefers uneventful days.

**Author's Note:**

> i hate myself too
> 
> this ship is underrated amnd uhm. [insert my ted talk here]


End file.
